


Doman Lullaby

by dazzler



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Ninja Quests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6878497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazzler/pseuds/dazzler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oboro receives a surprise visitor in the dock storehouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doman Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> so far ninja is the 2nd fave job quest chain after bard! going back to my ninja yaoi roots. i wanted to write a short fic for them at least.

The storm continued through the night, and with it brought memories of Garlean cannon fire. Oboro sighed and stretched out on his sleeping mat, listening to the rain on the storehouse roof like the drum of small bullets.

It was during nights like these, which were not uncommon in Rainforest Gully, that he missed Tsubame and the others the most. Their trip back to the village meant that it would be another moon before he saw them again.

The quiet noise of the door unlocking interrupted his thoughts. Alarmed, he rose from the mat and slipped out of sight into the shadows behind a training post. Before he could reach for a weapon, the door slid open and someone entered. 

Whoever it was walked light on their feet like a shinobi. But was it one of their own, returned from the village, or perhaps…?

“Karasu?” he said, stepping out from the shadows. Karasu spun around, a dagger in one hand, the other dangling limply at his side. 

“Ah.” Karasu sheathed his dagger. “Didn’t think anyone would be here,” he said. Oboro could see dark red seeping through the left arm of his jacket. “This hardly looks like building a village.” 

“I had business here yet,” said Oboro. “But never mind that. You are injured.”

“You don’t say,” Karasu said with a wince.

“What happened?” 

“Imperials, if you would believe it.” He leaned up against one of the training posts, cradling his arm close to his chest. “I only dropped in here to get away from them.” 

“You should stay,” Oboro said. He tried not to sound overeager. “At least let me look after your wounds.” 

Karasu sighed. “A hero shouldn’t turn down an offer of succor in his time of need, I suppose.”

“Wait there.” 

Oboro retrieved the storehouse medical kit and bade Karasu to have a seat on the mat. Kneeling before him, he carefully cut away the makeshift bandage Karasu had fashioned out of a strip of fabric. 

“This next part might sting,” he warned him. Karasu flinched as he passed the wet cloth over his wound. Thankfully it was not too deep, and most of the bleeding had already stopped. 

“It’s just you here?” Karasu asked. 

“Tsubame and the others have returned to the village.” Long hair tickled at Oboro’s neck as he wrapped Karasu’s arm in clean bandages.

“I should go,” Karasu said. “Places to be and all. I’m pretty popular these days.” 

Oboro did not reply. He started to pack the kit away when Karasu’s stomach let out a loud growl. Lifting his head, he met Karasu’s embarrassed expression with a smile.

“Let me find you something to eat first,” he said. 

When Oboro returned with rice and a bowl of beef stew, Karasu closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. 

“How I have missed your cooking,” he said. “It’s nigh impossible to find good Doman food here.”

“Have you been eating enough, at least?” Oboro asked, setting the food out on the low table. 

“Fussing over much, aren’t you?” Karasu slurped up a spoonful and let out a rather indecent moan. “Ohh, yes.” 

Oboro ducked his head to hide the heat that crept into his cheeks. “Please, you flatter me.” 

When Karasu had scraped the bowl clean, he made to stand, but Oboro caught him by the hem of his jacket.

“Karasu… why don’t you come back to visit us? Yomei and Byakubu are not the same as the elders, and they miss you, too.” 

Karasu prised his hand off and took a step back. “The curtains have closed on that act of the hero’s story.” 

“Stop this acting. I tire of you trying to make me leave, and it’s not going to work.” Oboro shook his head.  “Gekkai is truly to blame for what happened and I… I admired you. Yet I did not see what should have been obvious to me when he coerced you into helping him.” 

“The sparrow is a fool to think he has the eyes of a hawk,” said Karasu, brushing Oboro’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Why do you insist on following me?” 

“I’m the dim one, remember?” Oboro closed his eyes and tilted his head into the touch. “Your little shadow.” 

Karasu’s voice grew quiet. “You should have left when I told you to, Oboro.” 

Oboro placed his hands on Karasu’s chest and covered his mouth with his own, and Karasu’s pulse sped up under his palm.

“Your arm,” Oboro breathed between kisses. “Don’t overexert it.”

“I can sit right here,” said Karasu. He leaned back against the wall and patted his lap and Oboro crawled forward, drawing himself up to straddle Karasu’s hips. 

“What are we--” Oboro was interrupted as two fingers came to rest against his mouth, seeking entrance. He dutifully worked his tongue over them, wetting them before Karasu reached around his waist and tug down his shorts. Karasu’s hands, rough with scars and burns and callouses, trailed over Oboro’s bare skin, and he looked up at Oboro with a dark-eyed stare as he pushed inside. 

Soon he passed over a spot that made Oboro inhale sharply and go taut, one hand clutching at Karasu’s hip and leaving crescent marks in the skin. Karasu began to rub against it in slow, agonizing circles, grinning up at him. 

“Good boy,” Karasu said, nearly a purr, and Oboro flushed hot with shame and arousal both, grinding down and fucking himself on Karasu’s fingers. Karasu’s cock bumped against his thigh, thick and heavy.

Once Karasu had slicked himself with a clear liquid substance retrieved from his satchel, Oboro reached down to grasp his cock and position it against himself. Karasu entered him in one smooth motion, driving in to the hilt. Oboro groaned and gave an experimental roll of his hips, and Karasu’s head fell back against the wall. 

“Karasu…  _ Karasu _ ,” he said in a tight voice, curling forward and burying his face in Karasu’s shoulder. 

Karasu wrapped his fingers around Oboro’s cock, and Oboro jolted as Karasu pressed a thumb over the head, using the bead of fluid there to ease the friction. “You’re awfully tight.”

“Been a while,” Oboro said, eyes closing. “Not since you.”

Something like hunger flashed across Karasu's features, and when he kissed him, Oboro came with a whimper, tightening around Karasu’s cock and spilling over his stomach. 

After cleaning them both up (and checking to make sure Karasu hadn’t opened his wounds again), Karasu settled himself in Oboro’s arms, a solid warmth against his chest.  Outside the rain had stopped, and it was almost eerily quiet inside the storehouse until Karasu began to sing. His voice was soft but the words clear: a familiar song, one they’d learnt as children. 

“I'm not a baby,” Oboro mumbled into his shoulder, but Karasu just hushed him and continued singing, shifting closer as he drifted to sleep. 


End file.
